Chapter 1: The Circle in the Alley
The evening light was fading over Z-City, painting the urban landscape in soft oranges and purples as shadows lengthened across cracked sidewalks and worn buildings. Saitama trudged homeward, his yellow jumpsuit a bright spot against the drab surroundings. In each hand, he carried a plastic grocery bag, the handles stretched from the weight of his discount purchases.
"Twenty-two yen saved on eggs," he muttered to himself, mentally tallying his victories. "Thirty percent off the almost-expired tofu... and that special on cabbage was practically stealing."
A cool breeze ruffled across his bald head as he turned into his usual shortcut, a narrow alleyway between two apartment buildings. The passage was dim, littered with discarded cans and the occasional fast-food wrapper. Somewhere nearby, a stray cat yowled and knocked over something metallic.
Saitama's mind wandered to his evening plans—a hot cup of cheap tea, his favorite hero manga, and perhaps a discount cup noodle if he felt like splurging. After a day of no monster sightings and therefore no hero work, it would be another quiet night in his modest apartment.
"Wonder if there's anything good on TV tonight," he mused, his eternally expressionless face betraying none of his thoughts. "Maybe that cooking competition where they—"
His train of thought derailed abruptly as he spotted something unusual halfway down the alley.
A perfect circle of golden light, approximately three feet in diameter, hovered about two inches above the cracked pavement. It rotated slowly, emitting a soft hum just at the threshold of hearing. Around its circumference, strange symbols pulsed and shifted—characters from no earthly language.
Saitama stopped, grocery bags still dangling from his fingers, and tilted his head.
"Huh."
He glanced around, expecting to see the source of what he assumed was a projection or elaborate graffiti art. Finding no projector or giggling teenagers hiding behind the dumpsters, he stepped closer, examining the floating circle with mild curiosity.
"Must be some new hero promotional thing," he reasoned, circling the strange phenomenon. "Or maybe one of those viral marketing stunts."
The circle pulsed brighter as he approached, as if responding to his presence. The strange symbols along its edge began rotating faster, and the humming intensified.
"Pretty good effects," Saitama admitted, leaning in for a closer look. "Wonder how they're making it float like that."
In true Saitama fashion, his response to the unexplained was neither fear nor wonder, but a detached sort of curiosity. He shifted both grocery bags to his left hand and extended his right index finger toward the glowing circle.
"Is it a hologram or—"
His finger made contact with the golden light.
For one brief moment, nothing happened. Then, reality itself seemed to crack.
The circle exploded outward in a blinding flash that illuminated the entire alleyway. The sky above—what little was visible between the buildings—fractured like broken glass, revealing glimpses of a swirling cosmic void beyond. Thunder rumbled without clouds, and a high-pitched tone like the ringing of an enormous bell filled the air.
Saitama blinked, his expression unchanged. "Okay, that's new."
The golden light shot upward in a column so bright it turned night to day for several blocks. The concrete beneath his feet trembled, and in the distance, car alarms began wailing. The column of light split into six separate beams that arced back down to earth, striking the ground in a perfect circle around Saitama.
When the light faded, six women stood where the beams had touched down.
The first was a young woman with dark hair and striking blue eyes that seemed to pierce through reality itself. She wore a red leather jacket over a pale blue kimono and carried what appeared to be an ordinary knife. Her expression was distant, almost detached, yet her eyes never left Saitama's face.
The second stood ramrod straight in a red and white military-style nurse's outfit. Her silver hair framed a face of intense determination, and her eyes swept over the surroundings with clinical precision. Despite the chaos that had just occurred, not a wrinkle marred her uniform.
The third was tall and imposing, with tanned skin, white hair, and strange red tattoos across her face and body. She wore elaborate armor that seemed both ancient and alien, and a massive sword rested in her hand as if it weighed nothing. Her expression was stoic, almost emotionless.
The fourth appeared more delicate than the others, dressed in a modified military uniform. Despite her frail appearance, she carried herself with dignity, though she occasionally coughed quietly into a handkerchief. A katana hung at her side, its hilt well-worn from use.
The fifth stood regally in elaborate Egyptian-inspired attire, complete with a headdress and ornate staff. Her posture spoke of royalty, and her eyes held the weight of ancient authority. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck, catching the last rays of sunlight.
The sixth and final woman was petite with a curvaceous figure, dressed in a loose purple kimono that threatened to slip from her shoulders. Small horns protruded from her lavender hair, and she carried an ornate gourd. Her smile was mischievous, her eyes calculating.
For a long moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the distant wail of car alarms and the rustle of Saitama's grocery bags in the light breeze.
Then, as if responding to some unheard signal, all six women knelt before him.
"The summoning is complete," the Egyptian woman announced in a voice that seemed better suited to vast throne rooms than dingy alleyways. "I, Nitocris, Pharaoh of the Great Mirror, have answered your call, Master!"
Saitama stared blankly. "Master?"
The silver-haired nurse spoke next, her voice crisp and professional. "Florence Nightingale. Servant class: Berserker. I shall ensure your continued physical wellbeing."
"Altera," stated the tattooed warrior simply. "Good civilizations must be protected. Bad civilizations must be destroyed."
The pale woman with the katana coughed lightly before speaking. "Okita Souji Alter. Don't expect me to waste my talents on trivial matters."
The woman in the red jacket remained silent for several moments longer than the others, her blue eyes studying Saitama with increasing confusion. Finally, she spoke in a soft, measured voice. "Shiki Ryougi. I... cannot see your lines."
The horned woman rose with fluid grace, her kimono sliding further off one shoulder as she bowed with exaggerated deference. "Shuten Douji, at your service," she purred, her voice like honey laced with poison. "Care for a drink, Master? My sake brings pleasure beyond mortal comprehension."
Saitama looked from one woman to the next, then at his grocery bags, then back at the women.
"Is this some kind of elaborate prank show?" he asked, glancing around for hidden cameras. "Because I really need to get these eggs in the refrigerator soon."
Nitocris gasped, clearly offended. "PRANK? THE PHARAOH DOES NOT PARTICIPATE IN PRANKS! WE ARE HEROIC SPIRITS SUMMONED TO YOUR SIDE BY THE ANCIENT RITE OF—"
"We are Servants," Nightingale interrupted, rising to her feet. "Legendary heroes from across time and space, bound to you through a mystical contract."
"A summoning circle appeared, and you activated it," Altera added, her voice matter-of-fact. "Now we are bound to you until our purpose is fulfilled."
Saitama's expression remained neutral. "So... not a prank show?"
"This is no deception," Okita assured him, standing with dignity despite another small cough. "Though I admit, you are not what I expected in a Master."
Shuten Douji slid closer, her movements sinuous. "Yet he must possess great power to have summoned all of us at once," she observed, looking Saitama up and down with undisguised interest. "How fascinating."
Throughout this exchange, Shiki had remained silent, her gaze never leaving Saitama's face. She finally rose, her movements precise and economical. "Everyone has lines where they can be cut," she said cryptically. "Where death will find them. You have none."
Saitama scratched his head with his free hand. "Look, this is all very... whatever this is, but my ice cream is melting and it was 40% off. Can we figure this out at my apartment?"
The six women exchanged glances, varying degrees of surprise on their faces.
"He's concerned about groceries at a time like this?" Okita whispered incredulously.
"His priorities suggest unique perspectives on survival," Nightingale observed clinically.
"THE PHARAOH SHALL ACCOMPANY YOU TO YOUR ROYAL DWELLING!" Nitocris proclaimed, raising her staff dramatically.
"Lead the way, Master," Altera said with a nod.
As Saitama turned to continue down the alley, Shuten Douji fell into step beside him, walking close enough that her kimono occasionally brushed against his jumpsuit. "Tell me, Master," she inquired, her voice a sultry murmur, "do you often summon women from beyond the veil of reality?"
"This is definitely a first," Saitama replied flatly. "Usually my evenings are pretty boring."
"Then perhaps," Shuten smiled, producing a small cup from within her sleeve, "a drink to celebrate this unusual occasion?"
Before Saitama could respond, Nightingale appeared at his other side. "I must advise against consuming unknown substances," she stated firmly. "As your medical attendant, I cannot permit potentially hazardous ingestion."
Shuten's smile turned dangerous. "Are you suggesting my sake is... impure?"
"I am stating with medical certainty that alcohol consumption without proper assessment of its effects would be irresponsible," Nightingale countered, her stance subtly shifting to one more suited for combat.
"Both of you, stop," Altera commanded, moving between them. "Internal conflict is bad civilization."
Saitama, continuing to walk ahead, seemed oblivious to the tension brewing behind him. His mind was occupied with more practical concerns.
"I wonder if cup noodles are on sale anywhere this week," he mused aloud. "I'm going to need a lot more food now."
## Chapter 2: Apartment Arrangements and Awkward Adjustments
Saitama's apartment was small by any standard—a simple studio with a kitchenette, bathroom, and main living space that doubled as his bedroom. The furnishings were sparse: a futon that was folded away during the day, a small television atop a worn dresser, a low table, and not much else. A few hero manga volumes were stacked neatly in one corner, and a calendar on the wall marked with grocery sales provided the only decoration.
It was a space designed for one person of minimal needs and even more minimal budget.
It was not designed for seven people, especially when six of them were legendary heroic spirits with larger-than-life personalities.
"This... is where you live?" Okita asked, looking around with thinly veiled disappointment.
"Yep," Saitama replied, setting his grocery bags on the counter and beginning to unpack them. "Home sweet home."
Nightingale immediately began assessing the environment, moving methodically around the small space with a critical eye. "The hygienic conditions are suboptimal," she declared, opening his refrigerator without asking permission. "Expired condiments, unwashed vegetables, and—" she pulled out a container with something fuzzy growing inside, "—what appears to be a developing penicillin culture."
"That was tofu," Saitama explained without looking up from his groceries. "I think."
Altera, meanwhile, had begun systematically analyzing the apartment's strategic vulnerabilities. "This dwelling provides inadequate security," she stated, testing the lock on the front door with a frown. "The entry point could be breached in 2.3 seconds. The windows offer multiple invasion routes. The walls are insufficient to withstand even minimal artillery."
"Never really had a problem with artillery before," Saitama commented, carefully arranging his discount eggs in the refrigerator.
Nitocris had already claimed a corner of the room and was using Saitama's spare blanket to create what appeared to be a makeshift throne. "THE PHARAOH REQUIRES A PROPER CHAMBER BEFITTING HER DIVINE STATUS!" she announced, arranging the blanket more comfortably. "HOWEVER, THE PHARAOH SHALL GRACIOUSLY ADAPT TO THESE... MODEST ACCOMMODATIONS."
Okita had taken up position near the window, her back against the wall and her hand resting on the hilt of her katana. "At least the sightlines are decent," she muttered. "Though I've slept in military barracks with more space than this."
Shuten Douji had made herself comfortable on Saitama's futon, reclining with casual elegance as she surveyed the apartment. "Cozy," she purred, running a hand over the thin mattress. "Though I'm accustomed to more... luxurious surroundings."
Only Shiki seemed untroubled by the modest arrangements. She stood quietly by the door, watching Saitama with that same intense, puzzled expression.
After putting away the last of his groceries, Saitama turned to face his unexpected guests. "So... does anyone want to explain what's going on? In simple terms, preferably."
The six women exchanged glances, seemingly deciding who should speak. Finally, Nightingale stepped forward.
"You activated a summoning circle," she explained clinically. "Such circles exist as nexus points between dimensions, allowing Heroic Spirits—legendary figures from various points in history and mythology—to be called forth as Servants."
"Normally, a proper mage would perform the summoning ritual with specific catalysts and preparations," Okita added, crossing her arms. "It's unusual for someone to summon six Servants simultaneously, especially by accident."
"THE HAND OF FATE HAS CLEARLY GUIDED THIS MOMENTOUS OCCASION!" Nitocris declared from her blanket-throne.
Altera nodded in agreement. "The energy requirements for such a summoning would be substantial. Your magical circuits must be exceptional."
"I don't have magical circuits," Saitama replied blankly.
"Then perhaps your physical form houses another source of power," Shuten Douji suggested, her gaze traveling appreciatively over his simple jumpsuit.
Shiki, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke. "It doesn't matter how we were summoned. What matters is why."
All eyes turned to her.
"Typically, Servants are summoned for a purpose," she continued quietly. "A Holy Grail War, a grand order, a singularity that threatens the timeline... there is always a reason."
"Maybe it's a sale on dimensional rifts," Saitama suggested dryly.
Before anyone could respond to his joke, a knock came at the door. Everyone tensed—Okita's hand tightened on her sword, Altera moved into a defensive position, and even Nightingale's posture shifted subtly.
"Relax, it's probably just Genos," Saitama said, moving to the door.
"Genos?" Nitocris whispered dramatically. "ANOTHER SERVANT?"
"My disciple," Saitama clarified, opening the door.
In the hallway stood a young man with mechanical arms and serious eyes. Genos looked past Saitama and immediately scanned the room, his eyes glowing faintly as they processed the scene.
"Sensei," he said, his voice calm but alert, "I detected a massive energy surge in this vicinity approximately twenty-seven minutes ago. The pattern matched no known monster energy signature in my database."
His gaze settled on the six women now occupying Saitama's apartment. "Who are these individuals? Are they hostile? Should I eliminate them?"
"No elimination necessary," Saitama assured him, stepping aside to let him enter. "They're, uh... visitors. From... elsewhere."
"GREETINGS, MECHANICAL ONE!" Nitocris proclaimed, rising regally from her blanket-throne. "YOU STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF PHARAOH NITOCRIS OF THE SIXTH DYNASTY!"
Genos blinked, then turned to Saitama. "Sensei, I do not understand."
"Join the club," Saitama muttered, closing the door. "Apparently I accidentally summoned some 'Heroic Spirits' by poking a weird glowing circle in the alley. Now they're calling me 'Master' and talking about magical circuits and contracts."
Genos processed this information with typical efficiency. "I see. They appear to be extradimensional entities bound to you through a metaphysical agreement triggered by accidental contact with an interdimensional portal."
Saitama stared at him. "...Sure. Let's go with that."
"Your understanding is surprisingly accurate for a mechanical construct," Nightingale observed, studying Genos with professional interest. "You possess remarkable analytical capabilities."
"Thank you," Genos replied formally. "I am designed for optimal combat performance and data processing."
"A warrior spirit in a mechanical form," Okita commented, her initial wariness fading somewhat. "Interesting."
Altera approached Genos, circling him with a tactical eye. "Your construction appears resilient. What is your combat function?"
"I serve as an S-Class hero under the Hero Association," Genos explained. "And as Sensei's disciple, learning from his unparalleled strength and wisdom."
This statement drew the attention of all six Servants, who looked between Genos and Saitama with varying degrees of surprise.
"This unassuming bald man is a combat instructor?" Okita asked incredulously.
"Sensei is the strongest hero in existence," Genos stated with absolute conviction. "He has defeated every opponent with a single punch."
Shiki's eyes widened slightly—the first significant change in her expression since their arrival. "That would explain the absence of death lines," she murmured.
Shuten Douji's smile grew more intrigued. "My, my... our Master has hidden depths. How delicious."
"TRULY THE PHARAOH'S INSTINCTS WERE CORRECT!" Nitocris declared triumphantly. "HE IS WORTHY OF OUR SERVICE!"
Nightingale's clinical gaze assessed Saitama with renewed interest. "Physical capabilities beyond normal human parameters would explain certain anomalies I've observed."
Throughout this exchange, Saitama had begun preparing cup noodles at his small kitchenette, seemingly unconcerned with the discussion about his abilities.
"Does anyone want noodles?" he asked, holding up an extra cup. "I've got six cups total, so everyone can have one."
The abrupt shift from discussions of interdimensional summoning and superhuman strength to instant noodles left the room momentarily silent.
"You're offering us cup noodles?" Okita finally asked, disbelief evident in her voice.
"It's all I have right now," Saitama shrugged. "Unless you want eggs."
"I'll prepare proper nutrition tomorrow," Nightingale stated, accepting the offered cup with surprising grace. "For tonight, this will suffice."
"THE PHARAOH ACCEPTS YOUR HUMBLE OFFERING!" Nitocris declared, taking her cup with royal dignity.
Altera nodded stoically. "Efficient sustenance is good civilization."
Okita sighed but took her cup without further complaint. "I suppose warriors cannot always expect fine dining in the field."
Shuten Douji accepted her cup with an amused smile. "I typically prefer liquid refreshment, but I'm curious about your modern delicacies, Master."
Only Shiki hesitated, still watching Saitama with that intense, unreadable expression. Finally, she approached and took the last cup, her fingers briefly brushing against his.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
As they all awkwardly found places to sit in the small apartment—Saitama and Genos at the low table, Nightingale and Altera on the floor, Okita still by the window, Nitocris on her "throne," and Shuten Douji remaining on the futon—Saitama looked around at the strange gathering.
"So," he said between mouthfuls of noodles, "how long are you all planning to stay?"
The question hung in the air for a moment before Nightingale answered with clinical precision.
"The summoning contract remains in effect until its purpose is fulfilled," she explained. "As we have not yet identified that purpose, we remain bound to you indefinitely."
"Servants cannot stray far from their Master without experiencing mana depletion," Altera added. "We are tethered to your presence."
Saitama paused mid-slurp. "So... you're all living here now?"
"IT APPEARS THE FATES HAVE DECREED IT SO!" Nitocris confirmed grandly.
Saitama looked around his tiny apartment, mentally calculating the available floor space versus the number of bodies now occupying it.
"We're gonna need more noodles," he concluded.
## Chapter 3: Morning Routines and Midnight Conversations
Saitama's first night with his new "guests" proceeded about as well as could be expected, which was to say, not very well at all.
After much discussion (and one near-battle when Shuten Douji suggested everyone simply share the futon), sleeping arrangements were established through a combination of compromise and Saitama's absolute insistence on maintaining some semblance of personal space.
Saitama kept his futon, though it was moved to a corner to make room for the others. Nitocris created what she called a "royal resting chamber" out of blankets and cushions in another corner. Altera and Nightingale took up positions near the door and window respectively, both insisting they needed minimal rest and preferred to maintain vigilance. Okita reluctantly settled on a spare blanket near Altera, while Shuten Douji somehow produced a luxurious silk cushion from within her kimono.
Shiki simply sat with her back against the wall, knife across her lap, claiming she would "rest when necessary."
Despite the cramped conditions, everyone eventually fell into an uneasy silence. Saitama lay on his futon, staring at the ceiling, wondering how his simple life had become so complicated in the span of a single evening.
He was just drifting off to sleep when a soft voice beside him made him start.
"You truly don't understand what you are, do you?"
Shiki had somehow moved silently across the room to sit beside his futon, her blue eyes luminous in the darkness.
"I'm a hero for fun," Saitama replied quietly, mindful of the others. "That's all."
Shiki's gaze was penetrating. "Everyone I've ever met has lines where they can be cut. Where death will find them eventually. You have none."
"Is that... bad?"
"It's impossible," she whispered. "Yet here you are."
Saitama considered this for a moment. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes," she admitted. "And no. It's... fascinating."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gentle breathing of the others the only sound in the small apartment.
"You should sleep," Saitama finally said. "Tomorrow's probably going to be weird too."
A ghost of a smile touched Shiki's lips. "Probably."
She moved back to her position against the wall with the same silent grace, leaving Saitama to wonder if the conversation had actually happened or if he'd dreamed it.
---
Morning arrived with the subtle chaos of seven people trying to navigate a bathroom designed for one.
Saitama awoke to find Nightingale already awake and taking his pulse without permission, her clinical efficiency somehow more unsettling than if she'd been aggressive about it.
"Your resting heart rate is 50 beats per minute," she informed him. "Indicative of exceptional cardiovascular conditioning, though I'll need to run more comprehensive tests to establish a proper baseline."
"Good morning to you too," Saitama mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Around the apartment, the others were in various states of wakefulness. Altera stood by the window, already fully armored and watching the street below with tactical focus. Okita was performing precise sword exercises in what little open floor space remained, her movements fluid despite the cramped conditions. Nitocris was still asleep on her blanket-throne, occasionally muttering something about "sacred ibises" and "royal decrees."
Shuten Douji was nowhere to be seen, which was concerning until Saitama heard humming from the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water.
"She claimed bathing priority," Shiki explained from her position against the wall, where she appeared not to have moved since their midnight conversation. "Something about 'maintaining proper skin hydration for optimal allure.'"
Saitama sighed. This was going to be complicated.
By the time everyone had taken turns in the bathroom (with Nitocris taking nearly twenty minutes for what she called her "SACRED MORNING ABLUTIONS"), Saitama's usual morning routine was completely disrupted. His standard workout—100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10km run—seemed impossible in the crowded apartment.
"I'm going out for my training," he announced, changing into his yellow jumpsuit. "Anyone who wants to come along can, I guess."
"I shall accompany you to monitor your vital signs during exertion," Nightingale declared immediately.
"A warrior's conditioning is essential," Okita nodded, seemingly excited at the prospect of training.
"I will assess the strategic layout of the surrounding area," Altera added pragmatically.
"THE PHARAOH WOULD BE PLEASED TO OBSERVE YOUR COMBAT PREPARATIONS!" Nitocris announced, finally fully awake.
Shuten Douji stretched languidly, her kimono slipping off one shoulder. "Physical exertion so early? I prefer more... leisurely morning activities."
Shiki simply moved to stand by the door, her silent presence indicating her intention to join them.
And so it was that Saitama found himself leading a procession of six extraordinary women through the streets of Z-City for his morning run. The early hour meant few people were around to witness the strange spectacle, but those who were certainly stared.
"Is this pace sufficient for your training regimen?" Nightingale asked as they jogged, keeping perfect pace beside him. "Your breathing patterns suggest you're operating at approximately 30% of your aerobic capacity."
"This is just the warm-up," Saitama explained. "I usually pick up the pace after the first kilometer."
Altera, running on his other side with effortless grace, nodded approvingly. "Graduated intensity. Tactically sound."
Behind them, Okita matched their pace despite her occasional cough, while Nitocris had somehow maintained her regal bearing even while jogging. Shuten Douji moved with surprising agility for someone who appeared perpetually relaxed, and Shiki ran with the same quiet efficiency that characterized all her movements.
As they reached a deserted park, Saitama stopped. "This is where I usually do the calisthenics part," he explained, dropping into his first push-up.
What followed was both impressive and somewhat comical. Nightingale immediately began counting his repetitions with military precision, while simultaneously monitoring his form. Altera observed critically before beginning her own set of exercises, modified to accommodate her armor.
Okita joined in with competitive enthusiasm, matching Saitama push-up for push-up despite her smaller frame. Nitocris attempted to maintain her dignity while participating, though her elaborate headdress kept threatening to fall off.
Shuten Douji reclined on a nearby bench, offering "encouraging" comments that became increasingly suggestive as Saitama's count rose. Shiki simply watched, those penetrating eyes tracking every movement with analytical intensity.
By the time they returned to the apartment, the sun was fully up, and Saitama was feeling something he rarely experienced these days—a sense of camaraderie. Despite their eccentricities, these women were warriors in their own right, and there was something refreshing about training alongside others who could at least keep up.
The moment was short-lived, however, as they opened the door to find Genos waiting inside, his expression serious.
"Sensei, there's a situation downtown," he announced. "A monster attack, currently rated as Disaster Level Tiger, but likely to escalate."
Saitama nodded, immediately shifting into hero mode. "I'll head over."
"We will accompany you," Altera stated, not a question but a declaration.
"It would be prudent to assess your combat capabilities in a live scenario," Nightingale agreed.
"THE PHARAOH IS EAGER TO DEMONSTRATE HER DIVINE POWERS IN BATTLE!" Nitocris proclaimed, raising her staff enthusiastically.
Okita's hand moved to her sword hilt. "Finally, some action."
Shuten Douji sighed theatrically. "And here I was hoping for a quiet morning."
Shiki said nothing, but her hand rested on the knife concealed within her jacket.
Saitama looked at his six Servants, then at Genos, and shrugged. "Alright, but try not to cause too much collateral damage. The Hero Association gets cranky about property destruction."
As they headed out, Saitama couldn't help but wonder if this was what having a team felt like. It was strange, unfamiliar... but not entirely unpleasant.
## Chapter 4: First Battle and Public Perceptions
The scene downtown was one of predictable chaos. A creature resembling a giant mantis was rampaging through the shopping district, its bladed forelimbs slicing through storefronts and cars with ease. Civilians fled in all directions while the few heroes already on scene attempted to contain the damage.
Mumen Rider, brave as always despite his C-Class ranking, was helping evacuate civilians from a collapsed coffee shop. Lightning Max and Stinger were engaging the monster directly, though their attacks seemed to barely scratch its chitinous armor.
"PATHETIC HUMANS!" the mantis creature screeched, its mandibles clicking. "THE ERA OF INSECTS SHALL BEGIN WITH YOUR EXTINCTION!"
Saitama and his unusual entourage arrived just as the monster swatted Stinger into a nearby building.
"Stay back and let me handle this," Saitama instructed, stepping forward.
"Sensei, allow me to assist," Genos began, only to pause when he saw Saitama's expression.
It wasn't often that Saitama looked even remotely serious, but when he did, Genos knew better than to argue.
The six Servants, however, had no such experience with their new Master.
"Master, I must insist on performing a tactical assessment before engagement," Altera stated, moving to his side.
"The creature's exoskeleton appears reinforced," Nightingale observed clinically. "Conventional attacks may prove ineffective against—"
"Just watch," Saitama interrupted calmly, walking toward the rampaging monster with casual confidence.
The heroes on scene looked at him in confusion.
"Caped Baldy?" Lightning Max called out. "Be careful! This thing's tough!"
The mantis monster turned its compound eyes toward Saitama, mandibles clicking in what might have been insect laughter.
"ANOTHER INSIGNIFICANT HUMAN?" it chittered. "AND BALD TOO! WHAT DO YOU HOPE TO ACCOMPLISH, HAIRLESS ONE?"
Saitama stopped a few meters from the creature, his expression bored. "Hey, can you wrap this up? I was planning to hit the supermarket sale today."
"INSOLENCE!" the monster screeched, raising its bladed forelimb. "DIE!"
The blade came down with enough force to split concrete—and met Saitama's raised fist.
There was no dramatic clash, no shockwave of power. The blade simply stopped, as if it had struck an immovable object.
"Huh," Saitama said mildly. "You're actually kind of tough."
The monster's compound eyes widened in shock. "IMPOSSIBLE! MY BLADES CAN CUT THROUGH STEEL!"
"Yeah, that's pretty impressive," Saitama acknowledged. "But I'm still in a hurry, so..."
His fist shot forward—not with the full force of his infamous punch, but with just enough power to send the monster flying backward through several buildings before it crashed to a halt nearly a block away.
The watching heroes stared in stunned silence. The Servants, however, had varying reactions.
Altera nodded approvingly. "Efficient. Minimal wasted energy."
"Extraordinary force projection without apparent muscular hypertrophy," Nightingale noted with clinical interest. "Fascinating physiological anomaly."
"THE PHARAOH IS IMPRESSED BY HER MASTER'S DIVINE STRENGTH!" Nitocris declared loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear.
Okita's eyes had widened slightly. "Such power with so little effort..."
Shuten Douji licked her lips. "My, how exciting."
Shiki alone seemed unsurprised, her expression unchanged as she watched Saitama walk toward the fallen monster.
The mantis creature was struggling to rise, its exoskeleton cracked from the impact. "WHO... WHAT ARE YOU?" it demanded, mandibles quivering in fear.
"Just a hero for fun," Saitama replied, raising his fist for the finishing blow.
Before he could deliver it, however, a blur of motion passed him. Shiki stood beside the monster, her knife raised. She made a single, precise cut—not at the creature's body, but at something invisible in the air around it.
The monster froze, its eyes widening in impossible compreh The monster froze, its eyes widening in impossible comprehension before its entire form seemed to fold in on itself, collapsing into nothingness with barely a sound. Where the massive mantis had been, only a faint line remained in the air for a moment before that too vanished.
Saitama blinked, his fist still raised. "Huh. That's a neat trick."
Shiki sheathed her knife with fluid precision, her eyes returning to their normal blue. "I simply cut its connection to existence," she explained quietly. "All things have lines where they can be severed from being."
The surrounding heroes and civilians stared in shocked silence. Lightning Max's mouth hung open, while Stinger clutched his bamboo spear tighter, as if suddenly unsure of its effectiveness.
"That was... efficient," Saitama acknowledged with a nod. "Less mess to clean up, too."
Genos approached, his mechanical eyes scanning the space where the monster had been. "Sensei, my sensors detect no residual matter. The creature has been completely removed from dimensional space."
"THE PHARAOH APPROVES OF THIS CLEAN EXECUTION!" Nitocris declared, striding forward with her staff held high. "THOUGH A MORE SPECTACULAR DEMISE MIGHT HAVE BETTER DEMONSTRATED OUR COLLECTIVE MIGHT!"
"Unnecessary spectacle is bad civilization," Altera countered, her face impassive. "The threat was eliminated with optimal efficiency."
Nightingale had already moved to check on the injured heroes, kneeling beside Stinger with professional detachment. "Multiple lacerations, possible concussion, three cracked ribs," she diagnosed rapidly. "Remain still while I administer first aid."
"Who... who are you people?" Lightning Max asked, looking from one Servant to another with growing confusion.
Before anyone could answer, the crowd that had been watching from a safe distance began to approach, smartphones recording the unusual group.
"Did you see that? The woman in the red jacket made the monster disappear!"
"Look at their outfits—are they new heroes?"
"Is that Egyptian lady shouting about being a pharaoh?"
Mumen Rider pedaled up on his bicycle, adjusting his helmet as he stopped before them. "Thank you for your assistance," he said with genuine gratitude. "I don't recognize any of you except Caped Baldy. Are you newly registered heroes?"
Saitama scratched his head. "Uh, not exactly. They're sort of... visiting."
"WE ARE DIVINE SERVANTS BOUND TO OUR MASTER THROUGH SACRED COVENANT!" Nitocris proclaimed, causing several onlookers to step back in alarm.
"What my colleague means," Okita interjected smoothly, stepping forward with a slight cough, "is that we're associates of Saitama-san, here to observe hero work in this region."
"Foreign exchange heroes," Saitama improvised, grateful for Okita's quick thinking. "From... different places."
"A cultural exchange program," Genos added with surprising quickness. "Designed to promote international cooperation in monster defense strategies."
The crowd seemed to accept this explanation, many nodding with understanding. Someone in the back shouted, "Welcome to Z-City!" and a smattering of applause broke out.
As the crowd began dispersing and emergency services arrived to handle the cleanup, a man in a business suit approached, clipboard in hand and Hero Association logo on his jacket.
"Caped Baldy," he addressed Saitama formally, "the Association would like a full report on these... exchange heroes. Their powers are quite unusual and potentially warrant special classification."
Saitama suppressed a sigh. Paperwork was his least favorite part of hero work. "Can't Genos handle that? He's good with reports."
"I require direct testimony from you as the apparent leader of this group," the official insisted, his pen poised over the clipboard.
Shuten Douji slid gracefully between them, her kimono slipping just enough to be distracting without being improper. "Surely such tedious matters can wait," she purred, her voice honey-sweet. "Our Master has exerted himself and requires rest and refreshment."
The official blinked rapidly, suddenly flustered. "I, uh... that is..."
"She's right," Nightingale declared, appearing at Saitama's side and taking his pulse without warning. "The subject shows elevated heart rate and requires proper post-exertion nutrition and hydration."
"But I feel fine—" Saitama began.
"The pharaoh decrees that bureaucracy shall wait until after sustenance!" Nitocris announced, somehow managing to look down at the official despite being shorter.
The Association representative took an involuntary step back in the face of such unusual opposition. "Very well. Report to headquarters tomorrow for proper documentation." He retreated with as much dignity as he could muster.
Saitama looked at his Servants with a mixture of surprise and reluctant gratitude. "Thanks, I guess. I hate filling out those forms."
"Administrative tasks are the bane of warriors throughout history," Okita observed sagely, before coughing delicately into her handkerchief.
"Inefficient systems waste valuable resources," Altera agreed. "Bad civilization."
As they began walking away from the scene, Saitama noticed Shiki hanging back slightly, her gaze distant.
"Something wrong?" he asked, falling into step beside her.
"You were going to defeat it yourself," she stated rather than asked. "I interfered."
"It's fine," Saitama shrugged. "The monster's gone, that's what matters."
Shiki studied him with those penetrating blue eyes. "You're not like other Masters."
"I'm not really sure what a normal Master is supposed to be like," Saitama admitted.
"They seek power. Glory. Wishes granted," she explained quietly. "They view Servants as tools."
"That sounds like a lot of work," Saitama replied honestly. "I just want to be a hero for fun."
A ghost of a smile touched Shiki's lips. "Yes. That's what makes you different."
The walk back to the apartment was surprisingly peaceful, with the Servants naturally falling into a protective formation around Saitama—not because he needed protection, but because it seemed to satisfy some deep-seated instinct within them.
## Chapter 5: Marketplace Misadventures and Cultural Clashes
"We need supplies," Saitama announced the following morning, surveying his nearly empty refrigerator. "Having six extra people eats through food pretty fast."
"THE PHARAOH REQUIRES SUSTENANCE BEFITTING HER DIVINE STATUS!" Nitocris agreed loudly, peering over his shoulder at the barren shelves.
"Your nutritional intake is suboptimal even for a single individual," Nightingale observed critically. "A balanced diet would include significantly more protein, complex carbohydrates, and micronutrients than I've observed in your current provisions."
Saitama closed the refrigerator with a sigh. "The mega-mart has a sale today. We can stock up, but everyone needs to dress... less conspicuously." He glanced meaningfully at Nitocris's headdress and Altera's veil.
This suggestion was met with varying degrees of resistance.
"THE PHARAOH CANNOT BE EXPECTED TO CONCEAL HER DIVINE REGALIA!" Nitocris protested, clutching her staff protectively.
"My veil is integral to my cultural identity," Altera stated firmly, though her tone remained neutral.
Okita fingered the hilt of her katana. "A swordsman is never separated from their blade."
"Perhaps," Shuten Douji suggested with a mischievous smile, "if our Master were to provide appropriate attire for each of us..."
Saitama's expression fell further at the thought of his limited budget stretching to clothe six additional people. "I don't think—"
"I have a solution," Genos interrupted from the doorway, where he had just arrived carrying several large shopping bags. "I anticipated this need and procured appropriate civilian attire for each Servant based on my analysis of their physical dimensions and stylistic preferences."
All eyes turned to the bags, then back to Genos, whose face remained impassive.
"Genos," Saitama said with genuine feeling, "you're a lifesaver."
"Your praise honors me, Sensei," Genos replied with a slight bow.
The clothes Genos had selected were surprisingly thoughtful: a simple yet elegant blue dress for Nitocris (though she insisted on keeping a smaller, more discreet headdress); comfortable but stylish casual wear for Altera that still accommodated her tattoos; a modern take on traditional Japanese clothing for Okita; a conservative nurse's outfit that satisfied Nightingale's professional standards; and a fashionable purple blouse and skirt for Shuten Douji that was modest enough for public while still suiting her personality.
For Shiki, he'd simply provided a new red leather jacket, recognizing that her usual attire was already inconspicuous enough.
"How did you fund these purchases?" Saitama asked quietly as the others changed.
"My S-Class stipend is substantial, Sensei," Genos replied. "And I require minimal personal expenditures for maintenance."
Saitama nodded gratefully. "Thanks. My hero budget is pretty tight these days."
"It is my honor to support you and, by extension, those bound to you," Genos assured him.
---
The Z-City Mega-Mart was bustling with weekend shoppers when Saitama and his unusual entourage arrived. Though less conspicuous in their new attire, the six women still drew curious glances—partly for their striking appearances, but mostly for the way they formed a loose defensive perimeter around the unremarkable bald man in their center.
"Remember," Saitama instructed as they entered, "we're here for essentials only. Nothing fancy or expensive."
"Define 'essential,'" Nightingale requested with clinical precision.
"Food that won't spoil quickly. Basic hygiene products. Maybe some extra blankets if they're on sale," Saitama listed. "Nothing gold-plated," he added with a meaningful glance at Nitocris.
"THE PHARAOH SHALL RESPECT THE TREASURY CONSTRAINTS," Nitocris agreed, though she looked longingly at a display of decorative housewares as they passed.
"We should divide our forces for maximum efficiency," Altera suggested, eyeing the crowded store with tactical assessment. "Small teams can secure different categories of supplies simultaneously."
Saitama considered this, then nodded. "That makes sense. Nightingale and Altera, you handle vegetables and meat. Nitocris and Okita, get rice, noodles, and other pantry stuff. Shuten and Shiki, bathroom supplies and cleaning products."
"And you, Master?" Shuten inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"I'll head for the sales section," Saitama replied seriously. "That's where the real bargains are."
With assignments given, the groups dispersed into the store. Saitama breathed a small sigh of relief at the temporary reduction in his entourage, then made his way toward the clearance corner, where red discount tags beckoned like old friends.
He was examining a stack of nearly-expired tofu when a small commotion from the produce section caught his attention. With a sense of foreboding, he abandoned his discount hunting and hurried toward the sound.
There he found Nightingale engaged in what could only be described as an interrogation of a bewildered produce clerk.
"The soil composition used for these vegetables—was it tested for heavy metal contamination?" she demanded, holding up a cucumber with surgical precision. "And what pesticide protocols were implemented during the growing cycle?"
The clerk, a teenager with a name tag reading "Kenji," looked increasingly distressed. "I... I just stock the shelves, ma'am."
"Unacceptable," Nightingale declared. "Proper nutritional intake requires complete information about potential contaminants. As medical officer for my Master, I cannot permit uninformed dietary choices."
Nearby, Altera was methodically rearranging the apple display into what appeared to be a defensive formation.
"The current configuration is inefficient," she explained to another employee. "This arrangement optimizes for both structural integrity and accessibility while minimizing bruising potential."
Saitama intervened quickly. "They're, uh, very particular about food quality," he explained to the confused staff. "Professional nutritionists."
Gathering Nightingale and Altera, he whispered urgently, "Maybe tone it down a little? We don't want to get kicked out before finishing our shopping."
Nightingale's expression remained serious. "Compromising on nutritional standards risks your physical wellbeing."
"My wellbeing will be fine even with regular veggies," Saitama assured her. "Just... pick normal stuff that's on sale, okay?"
With the produce situation temporarily defused, Saitama went in search of his other Servants, following the sound of a now-familiar loud voice to the international foods aisle.
"THESE OFFERINGS ARE PALE IMITATIONS OF TRUE EGYPTIAN CUISINE!" Nitocris was proclaiming, holding a box of falafel mix aloft like evidence in a trial. "IN THE PHARAOH'S TIME, SUCH BLAND CONCOCTIONS WOULD HAVE BEEN CONSIDERED AN INSULT TO THE DIVINE PALETTE!"
Beside her, Okita was methodically examining each package, her military precision evident even in grocery shopping. "The sodium content in these prepared foods is tactically unsound," she observed, returning a ramen package to the shelf. "A warrior requires proper nutrition for optimal performance."
Saitama quickly guided them toward the rice section. "Let's focus on the basics, alright? Plain rice, simple seasonings, nothing complicated."
Leaving them with clearer instructions, he navigated through the store in search of Shiki and Shuten Douji, whom he found in the liquor section—predictably.
"Master," Shuten greeted him with a sultry smile, several bottles of sake already nestled in her shopping basket. "I was just selecting appropriate refreshments."
"We can't afford all that," Saitama said firmly, eyeing the premium labels with mild panic. "One bottle, maximum. And the cheapest one."
Shuten pouted playfully. "But Master, quality sake is essential for proper relaxation. Would you deny your Servants small comforts after long days of battle?"
"We've had exactly one battle so far," Saitama pointed out dryly.
"The concept of luxury varies across cultures and eras," Shiki observed quietly, replacing an expensive bottle on the shelf. "This one will suffice," she added, selecting a modestly priced sake.
Shuten sighed dramatically but acquiesced with surprising grace. "As you wish. Though I maintain that proper appreciation of fine sake is an education worth investing in."
By the time they regrouped near the checkout lanes, their carts contained a reasonable if somewhat eclectic assortment of groceries. Saitama reviewed the selections with a critical eye toward his budget, removing a few unnecessary items (including a small golden statuette Nitocris had somehow slipped in).
"THE PHARAOH PROTESTS THIS SACRILEGE!" she declared when he returned it to a shelf.
"The pharaoh can buy her own decorations when she gets a job," Saitama countered flatly.
This comment created an unexpected moment of silence as the six Servants exchanged glances.
"Master raises a valid point," Altera acknowledged. "Long-term sustainment requires resource generation."
"Indeed," Nightingale agreed with clinical precision. "If our presence is to be extended indefinitely, financial independence would reduce strain on Master's limited resources."
Okita nodded thoughtfully. "A warrior should not burden those they serve."
"THE PHARAOH HAS NEVER... THAT IS TO SAY... EMPLOYMENT IS A COMPLEX CONCEPT FOR DIVINE ROYALTY," Nitocris stumbled, clearly flustered by the idea.
Shuten Douji merely smiled enigmatically. "There are many ways to generate income, some more... entertaining than others."
"We should discuss this further after completing the current mission," Shiki suggested practically, nodding toward the growing line behind them.
As they paid for their groceries (the total making Saitama wince despite their relatively restrained selections), the cashier eyed the unusual group curiously.
"Big family gathering?" she asked conversationally.
"Something like that," Saitama replied vaguely.
"He's our Master," Shuten added with deliberate ambiguity and a mischievous smile that made the cashier's eyes widen slightly.
"She means teacher," Saitama corrected hastily. "It's a... cultural exchange program."
The walk home was mercifully uneventful, with the Servants carrying most of the bags despite Saitama's insistence that he could handle them. Their procession drew curious glances from neighbors, but no one dared approach the strange entourage.
As they unpacked the groceries in Saitama's modest kitchen, fitting everything into the limited storage space became its own tactical challenge.
"This refrigerator is inefficiently designed," Altera observed, rearranging items with military precision. "The spatial organization lacks strategic coherence."
"THE PHARAOH SUGGESTS A SYSTEM BASED ON DIVINE HARMONY!" Nitocris declared, attempting to create what appeared to be a miniature pyramid of yogurt containers.
"Nutritional access should be prioritized by biological necessity," Nightingale countered, reorganizing Nitocris's creation with clinical efficiency. "Proteins accessible at eye level, carbohydrates below, condiments in door storage for minimal disruption of thermal regulation."
Saitama watched with a mixture of resignation and amusement as his kitchen became a battleground of organizational philosophies. To his surprise, it was Okita who finally brought order to the chaos.
"Enough," she stated firmly, her usual cough momentarily absent as she addressed her fellow Servants. "Our Master's dwelling has limited space. We will organize by frequency of use, with Master's preferences taking priority. This is not a matter for debate."
The others fell silent, even Nitocris acceding to the unexpectedly authoritative command. Saitama shot Okita a grateful look, which she acknowledged with a slight nod.
As the afternoon wore on, an unfamiliar domesticity settled over the apartment. Altera and Nightingale discussed the tactical and medical implications of various sleeping arrangements to maximize comfort in the limited space. Nitocris, having reluctantly abandoned her blanket-throne concept, was exploring the possibility of "A MORE MODEST ROYAL CHAMBER" using spare pillows. Okita had taken up a position near the window, meticulously cleaning her blade while keeping watch on the street below.
Shuten Douji had convinced Saitama to allow her to open the sake, pouring small cups for those interested. When she offered one to Shiki, the knife-wielder hesitated before accepting with a quiet nod of thanks.
"You don't speak much," Saitama observed, sitting cross-legged near Shiki as the others busied themselves around the apartment.
"Words often contain less truth than silence," she replied softly, sipping the sake with deliberate appreciation.
"That's pretty deep," Saitama commented, genuinely impressed.
"Is it? It seems obvious to me." Shiki's blue eyes studied him with that now-familiar intensity. "You understand this too, in your way. You don't waste words on unnecessary things."
Saitama considered this. "I guess I never thought about it that much. I just say what needs saying."
"Exactly." A ghost of a smile touched Shiki's lips. "In a world full of noise, that clarity is... refreshing."
Their quiet conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door—three precise, measured raps that immediately put all six Servants on alert. Weapons appeared from seemingly nowhere, stances shifted to combat readiness, and even Shuten Douji's relaxed posture gained a predatory edge.
"It's probably just Genos again," Saitama sighed, standing to answer.
Opening the door revealed not his cyborg disciple, but a severe-looking woman in a crisp Hero Association uniform, clipboard in hand.
"Saitama, B-Class Hero," she stated rather than asked. "I'm here for the mandatory registration of your... associates. The Association has rules about unregistered individuals with superhuman abilities operating within city limits."
Saitama blinked. "Registration?"
The woman peered past him into the apartment, her eyes widening slightly at the assembled Servants, several still holding weapons. "Yes. Registration, power assessment, and background verification. Standard procedure."
Before Saitama could respond, Nitocris stepped forward, her staff raised dramatically.
"THE PHARAOH DOES NOT SUBMIT TO BUREAUCRATIC CATALOGUING!" she declared. "DIVINE BEINGS TRANSCEND YOUR MORTAL SYSTEMS OF CLASSIFICATION!"
The Association official took an involuntary step back. "I... I'm just doing my job. The regulations clearly state—"
"Your regulations are irrelevant to beings from beyond your dimensional understanding," Altera stated matter-of-factly, her sword glinting ominously in the afternoon light.
"Perhaps," Shuten Douji suggested, sliding gracefully into view with a dangerous smile, "there's a more... amicable way to resolve this administrative inconvenience?"
Saitama quickly intervened before the situation could escalate further. "Look, it's complicated. Can we have some time to sort this out? They're not from around here, and there's a lot of... cultural differences to work through."
The official glanced nervously at the assembled Servants, then back at Saitama. "The Association requires compliance within 48 hours. After that, unauthorized power usage will result in sanctions." She thrust a stack of forms into his hands before beating a hasty retreat.
Saitama closed the door with a sigh, looking down at the complex paperwork with growing dread. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it?"
"Bureaucratic systems exist to control what they do not understand," Shiki observed quietly. "We are, by definition, beyond their understanding."
"Can't we just... I don't know, make something up for the forms?" Saitama suggested hopefully.
Nightingale examined a form with clinical precision. "Falsifying official documentation carries potential legal repercussions that could compromise your hero status."
"THE PHARAOH SUGGESTS A DISPLAY OF DIVINE MIGHT TO DISCOURAGE FURTHER INTERFERENCE!" Nitocris proposed enthusiastically.
"Bad civilization," Altera countered firmly. "Unnecessary conflict wastes resources."
"Perhaps," Okita suggested after a thoughtful pause, "we should consider legitimate employment through this 'Hero Association.' It would solve both our registration issues and our earlier discussion of financial independence."
The other Servants considered this idea with varying expressions of interest and skepticism.
"Heroes... for hire?" Shuten Douji mused, rolling the concept around like fine sake on her tongue. "How charmingly mercenary."
"It aligns with our nature as Servants," Altera acknowledged with a nod. "Battle is our purpose."
"Professional hero work would provide structured outlets for our combat capabilities," Nightingale analyzed. "And potentially reduce Master's financial burden."
"THE PHARAOH COULD BRING DIVINE JUDGMENT TO EVILDOERS!" Nitocris warmed to the idea with growing enthusiasm.
Shiki merely shrugged slightly. "If that is what Master wishes."
All eyes turned to Saitama, who found himself in the unexpected position of having to make a decision that would affect all of them.
"Being a hero is mostly just finding monsters and punching them," he explained simply. "It doesn't pay great at my rank, but I guess having more registered heroes around might make things easier. And it would solve the registration problem."
"Then it is decided," Altera declared. "We shall become heroes under this Association's banner."
"For our Master," Okita agreed with a formal nod.
"To ensure proper medical response to crises," Nightingale added clinically.
"FOR THE GLORY OF ANCIENT EGYPT!" Nitocris proclaimed.
"For the entertainment value, if nothing else," Shuten Douji purred with a mischievous smile.
Shiki said nothing, but her slight nod conveyed acceptance.
Saitama looked around at the six extraordinary women who had literally fallen into his life, each now prepared to join his profession for reasons of their own. It was strange, uncomfortable, and yet somehow... not entirely unwelcome.
"Alright then," he said with his characteristic simplicity. "I guess we're going to need to fill out these forms after all."
## Chapter 6: Midnight Confidences and Morning Confrontations
Night had fallen over Z-City, the apartment now dark save for the faint glow of moonlight through the window. The sleeping arrangements, though still cramped, had gained a sort of organized chaos that somehow worked. Nightingale and Altera maintained their guard positions near the door and window respectively, though both had conceded to using small cushions. Nitocris had created what she called a "modest royal resting space" in one corner, while Okita had claimed a spot near Altera, her sword within easy reach.
Shuten Douji had somehow acquired additional silk cushions and created a nest-like arrangement that managed to appear both comfortable and slightly decadent. Saitama had reclaimed his futon, though it had been relocated to optimize space usage according to Altera's tactical assessment.
Only Shiki seemed to have no fixed position, sometimes sitting against the wall, other times perching near the window, her knife always close at hand.
Tonight, she sat cross-legged on the small balcony outside Saitama's apartment, gazing at the city lights. The door slid open quietly, and Saitama stepped out to join her, dressed in his pajamas and looking somewhat surprised to find her there.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the others.
"I don't require much rest," she replied softly. "My connection to the Root provides sufficient energy."
Saitama nodded as if this made perfect sense, though he clearly had no idea what "the Root" referred to. He settled beside her, looking out at the cityscape.
"It's a good view," he commented. "One of the reasons I took this apartment."
Shiki glanced at him sidelong. "You find beauty in simple things."
"I guess so." He shrugged. "Complicated stuff is usually more trouble than it's worth."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the distant sounds of the city creating a gentle background rhythm.
"You're not afraid of us," Shiki observed eventually. It wasn't a question.
"Should I be?"
"Most would be. We are beings of immense power, bound to ancient forces beyond normal comprehension. Nitocris commanded the waters of the Nile. Altera destroyed entire civilizations. Okita was feared as one of history's deadliest swordsmen. Nightingale defied death itself to heal the wounded. Shuten Douji devoured thousands as one of Japan's most terrible oni." She paused. "And I can kill anything that exists, even concepts themselves."
Saitama considered this. "That's pretty impressive, I guess. But you all seem okay. A bit weird, but who isn't?"
Shiki's lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "You truly are unique, Saitama."
Before he could respond, the balcony door slid open again, revealing Shuten Douji in her sleeping kimono, which somehow managed to be both modest and suggestive simultaneously.
"My, my, a midnight rendezvous?" she purred, her voice low and teasing. "How secretive of you both."
"Just getting some air," Saitama explained simply.
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind some company?" Without waiting for an answer, Shuten settled gracefully on Saitama's other side, producing her sake gourd as if by magic. "The night air pairs beautifully with fine sake."
She poured three small cups, offering them with elegant precision. Shiki accepted hers with a slight nod, while Saitama hesitated before taking his.
"I don't really drink much," he admitted.
"Then consider this an educational experience, Master," Shuten smiled. "Good sake should be sipped slowly, like a precious conversation."
Saitama cautiously tried the liquid, his eyebrows rising slightly at the smooth, complex flavor. "That's... actually pretty good."
"Of course it is," Shuten preened slightly. "I would never offer inferior refreshments."
The three sat in surprisingly companionable silence, sipping sake and watching the city lights. After a while, Shuten spoke again, her voice lacking its usual playful edge.
"It's strange, isn't it? We three, from such different worlds, sharing this moment."
"Life is full of unexpected intersections," Shiki observed quietly.
"That's what makes it interesting," Saitama added, finishing his small cup of sake.
Shuten studied him with genuine curiosity. "What drives you, Master? Not power, clearly. Not glory or wealth. What makes the strongest hero continue fighting day after day?"
Saitama considered the question with unexpected seriousness. "I used to hope fighting stronger opponents would make me feel something again. The thrill of a real challenge, you know? But now..." He shrugged. "I guess I just want to be a good hero. Help people who need it."
"Simple motivations often prove the most resilient," Shiki noted, her blue eyes reflective in the moonlight.
"And the most honest," Shuten agreed, refilling their cups with graceful precision. "Most pursue power for its own sake, never asking why they desire it in the first place."
The conversation might have continued, but the balcony door slid open once more to reveal Nightingale, her expression clinical even in her sleepwear.
"Master, your core temperature will drop approximately 0.3 degrees if you remain exposed to the night air for an extended period," she stated matter-of-factly. "Additionally, alcohol consumption without proper hydration may lead to suboptimal physiological function tomorrow."
Before Saitama could respond, Altera appeared behind Nightingale. "The tactical vulnerability of this position is concerning," she observed. "The balcony offers multiple attack vectors with minimal defensive options."
"THE PHARAOH SENSES A GATHERING WITHOUT PROPER ROYAL REPRESENTATION!" came Nitocris's voice from inside the apartment, followed by the rustle of movement as she presumably prepared to join them.
Okita's quiet cough preceded her appearance in the doorway. "If everyone is awake, we should establish a proper watch rotation rather than congregating in an exposed position."
Saitama looked at the growing assembly with a mixture of resignation and amusement. "So much for a quiet moment," he murmured to Shiki, who offered a barely perceptible smile in return.
---
Morning arrived with unprecedented commotion.
Saitama awoke to the sound of forceful knocking on his apartment door—not the measured precision of Genos or the tentative tap of neighbors, but the authoritative pounding of official business.
Before he could fully disentangle himself from his blankets, all six Servants were alert and positioned strategically throughout the small apartment. Weapons had materialized from seemingly nowhere, and the air itself seemed to thrum with restrained power.
"Master, remain back," Altera commanded quietly, her massive sword held at the ready.
"Possible hostile intent detected," Nightingale assessed, a large medical syringe somehow transformed into something distinctly weapon-like in her hands.
"THE PHARAOH SHALL SMITE THOSE WHO DISTURB THE ROYAL SLUMBER!" Nitocris declared, though mercifully at a lower volume than her usual proclamations.
Okita had taken up position beside the door, her katana half-drawn and ready for instantaneous deployment. Shuten Douji had somehow positioned herself above the doorframe, deadly hairpins glinting between her fingers. Shiki stood calmly to one side, knife held casually but with unmistakable readiness.
"It's probably just—" Saitama began, only to be interrupted by an amplified voice from outside.
"Saitama, B-Class Hero! This is the Hero Association Special Response Unit! Open the door immediately for mandatory power assessment of unregistered individuals!"
Saitama sighed deeply. "It's just the Hero Association paperwork people. No need for the battle stations."
Despite his assurance, none of the Servants relaxed their guard as he made his way to the door and opened it.
Outside stood a delegation that could only be described as intimidating: four men in powered exoskeletons flanking a severe-looking woman in a Hero Association uniform more elaborate than the one worn by yesterday's representative. Behind them, various technical staff clutched tablets and monitoring equipment.
"Citizen Saitama," the woman began formally, consulting her tablet, "our records indicate the presence of six unregistered individuals with significant power signatures at this location. As per Association Protocol 7-B, all such individuals must submit to immediate power assessment and registration."
Saitama scratched his head sleepily. "We were going to fill out the forms today. Is this really necessary?"
The woman's expression remained unyielding. "The energy readings from this location suggest Class S potential for multiple signatures. Such readings trigger mandatory expedited protocols."
Before Saitama could respond, Nitocris pushed forward, her staff glowing ominously. "THE PHARAOH DOES NOT SUBMIT TO TESTS BY LESSER BEINGS!"
The response team tensed visibly, exoskeletons whirring as weapons systems came online.
"Stand down," the leader ordered sharply. "Unregistered power usage is a direct violation of—"
"Your jurisdiction is meaningless to those who exist beyond your dimensional understanding," Altera stated coolly, stepping into view with her massive sword resting casually on her shoulder. "Your assessment protocols are inadequate for our nature."
The standoff might have escalated further had a familiar voice not called out from the stairwell.
"I can vouch for these individuals."
All heads turned to see a